


The Theft and the Gift

by dr_zook



Category: Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: F/M, Implied Relationships, Loki being Loki, M/M, Talking Animals, hammer-stealing, implied pairings if you squinted, necklace-stealing, shape-shifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-18 06:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16989705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_zook/pseuds/dr_zook
Summary: Just because the world around him behaves like a madhouse doesn't mean Heimdall has to be part of it.





	The Theft and the Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melannen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melannen/gifts).



> Dear recipient, I know this is probably not really what you hoped for. I really enjoyed reading your thoughtful notes in your Dear Author Letter! So, I pray you won't be disappointed, and that you won't mind the slashy undertones*. I wish you the most joyous Yuletide! ♥
> 
> This would be a re-telling of motifs occurring in both the Húsdrápa & Skáldskaparmál (= the theft of Frejya's necklace), and the Þrymskviða (= the theft of Thor's hammer)-- but from Heimdall's POV. 
> 
> Thanks to J., whom I shall call Mimir from now on. The scientific papers he draws from out of his well are magnificent. Also, a million thanks to L., whom I shall call my Ghostwriter from now on. Without her this would be bordering unreadable.

*** ***

you're lookin' good, just like a snake in the grass  
one of these days, you're gonna break your glass

don't bring me down, no, no, no, no, no

[Electric Light Orchestra, _Don’t Bring Me Down_ ]

***

 

"But, how?" Heimdall asks Freyja tentatively, standing at the entrance to her chambers. His fingers fiddle with the wooden frame where a splinter could rip your clothing if you were not watching out.

The goddess is bristling with fury. In her anger, she swipes glass vials and small dishes from a table in front of the window. Gentle morning air drifts inside, but the blackbirds whistling in the garden sound rather upset.

"Now, that's a very good question, Heimdall. Thank you for asking." Her gaze boils with brimstone and lightning.

For a split second he wonders why human warriors make a pledge to his father before rushing into battle, and not to her. But wait, that's not exactly true. She also is called upon to grant victory.

And this is a very good moment to understand why.

He swallows. "He wasn't exactly stealthy, you know."

Heimdall’s recollection of yesterday's events is crystal clear: Loki came upon his post, hailing from afar. Offering him good wine, even. They shared a friendly drink, maybe two, until Odin's blood-brother said, "Alas, I have to go, golden-teethed stalwart. Thank you for your hospitality," hinted at a bow and pretended to leave – only to to walk past Heimdall instead… entering Asgard.

"Uh," Heimdall had said, not very eloquently. "Where are you headed for?"

Loki, smoothing the creases of his gloves, did not look at him. "Visiting Freyja, if you must know." A smile crinkled the corners of his thin mouth. "Thor is busy, so I should engage myself in studying her wisdom. Also," and here he lifted his gaze to watch Heimdall's jaw working around what to say, "I heard about her new necklace. As I work deftly with hammer and anvil myself I would like to see it."

"Uh," Heimdall says now, while Freyja's favourite cat hisses at her mistress who shoos her from a pillow to sit down herself.

"The infamy!" Freyja fumes. Solicitously, her cat stalks back to sniff at her, and decides to knead her thighs. One of Freyja’s hands pets the animal's back, the other glides between her own neck and breast, fumbling for something no longer there.

"Didn't you know Loki is not to be trusted?" Heimdall tries. "Especially without Thor being around… I fear he's rather mischievous."

She stares at him, amusement and spite curling the corners of her eyes. "Loki? Nah. He's the old raven's puppet. Can you believe that your father sent him here to steal my new necklace?"

Heimdall's gaze fixes the cat, the bench where it prances. What has Odin to do with it all? His mind starts reeling.

"He was jealous," Freyja explains as if she had heard his thoughts. "To which he has no damn right, mind." She snorts and pulls the cat to her lap; the animal complies purring. "This time of the dwarves who made the gems." She smiles fondly, her eyes clearly seeing something in the past.

Heimdall clears his throat; he hasn’t budged since he got here, after Freyja's resounding yell had alarmed him in the morning. The more he thinks about it, the less detail does he want of what has happened here last night.

Freyja rises, taking the few steps towards him. "I need it back, it's important," she declares, and Heimdall feels anticipation and might gliding down his spine. "And Odin is not the only one to play this game. Would you hunt his lapdog down for me?" Her flaxen braid lies heavy on her shoulder; shiny trinkets are woven in between the strands.

He wouldn't even have to look long for Loki: his cackle can be heard across the mountains and vales, the brooks and fens.

Heimdall draws his coat tighter. "Very well, Frouwe," he murmurs, and grips his spear tighter. "I shall get your necklace back."

She smiles, and her teeth shine like the stars.

 

***

Ocean spray welcomes him, and Heimdall hears the laughter that has accompanied him throughout his childhood. It's loud, and a strong wind tears at his clothes.

He can smell rotting kelp and swarthy sands. Here, where the worlds clash and great rocks are ground up by the waves, Loki is waiting, prancing along the edge of the cliff.

"Took you a while," Loki yells across the howling air. His own garments are tousled by the wind; spindrift has wetted them and sticks sorrel hair to the skin of his neck.

His neck.

And there it is, Freyja's treasure. It's made of reddish gold and burnished amber, interspersed with small, dark stones polished like rare wood. Strangely, it adorns Loki's flat chest as if it’d been made for it, although the collar of his leaf-green tunic reveals nothing more tempting than the dip between his clavicles.

This is not the first time Heimdall senses the whiff of danger that surrounds Loki, no. But this time it's unmistakable.

Loki, of course, notices Heimdall’s gaze. He even strikes a pose. "Gorgeous, isn't it?" His fingertips glide over the necklace as he steps closer-- but no closer than twice the length of Heimdall's spear.

Heimdall swallows his anger. "I'm here at Freyja's behest," he tells the trickster who dared to fool him. "Give it back."

Loki grins. "What makes you think I won't return it to her myself? Maybe I just wanted to wear it for a while, make use of it." He wipes damp locks of hair from his temple, his gaze traveling up and down Heimdall.

"None of that, liar," Heimdall grinds, thumping his spear on the ground, and the wet coastline gives underneath. Puissance thrums through his bones and marrow. "You are giants' offspring, and thus not to be trusted!"

A broad grin spreads across Loki's features, but the glint in his eyes grows cold. "Duly noted, wisest of us all. But why, aren't we all, son borne of nine Thursar maidens?"

"Enough!" Heimdall roars. The sea roars back, but the seagulls above them are snickering.

Loki's nimble feet dance backward as Heimdall approaches him, and when he can’t fully dodge the attack he stumbles over a rock and falls-- not without kicking against Heimdall's shins, causing him to tumble over his wiry opponent.

It's an almost humiliating tussle for dominance, and Heimdall is glad there are only gulls for witnesses. They're fighting close quarters, so spear and sword are useless, and he can't reach for his dagger, because-- because his fingers are gone, replaced by _flippers_. And Loki eventually _rolls_ them closer towards the waterline.

Heimdall has to blink a few times, but finds he has changed shape, too, like his adversary. "What?" he croaks. It sounds like a bark, but he's sure Loki understands.

Not only has he changed shape, he has also lost his clothing and weapons and is now stuck in a seal's body. Just like Loki, who seems entirely unperturbed by the development and tries to push them both to sea.

Heimdall is definitely not used to having flippers for arms and legs. Somehow he manages to not be put under water, a prospect that disturbs him. Steering the fight back onto the broad sandbank he is able, at last, to crowd Loki and pin him with a bite to the back of his neck.

Loki wails loudly, "Stop, stop! I yield, fuck. Heimdall, let go."

It isn't easy to keep the maw where it is. Loki's thick skin is slippery, and Heimdall wonders how the jewels can stay around his neck. By all rights, they should have slipped over his plump, little head already. But the amber stones cut into teardrops still adorn the ungraceful animal.

"I give it back to you, but not for free," Loki quibbles.

Heimdall pushes Loki's head into the sand. "I bested you. You're in no position to negotiate."

A wriggle beneath him, eyes slitting to sharp slivers. Their shapes shift again until Loki, like freshly washed ashore, lays naked beneath Heimdall; the jewels are rucked up against his throat. "It's the necklace of the goddess of love. I could only take it from her because I kissed her cheek," he explains quickly. "An exchange of gifts, you know. Wouldn't have worked otherwise."

Heimdall guffaws: "I heard you were a fly then!" He shoves his forearm against Loki's neck to hold him still.

"Oh, come on. Do I have to spell it out for you?"

Heimdall rolls his eyes, then stares down at Loki. The sea laps at their forms, the sand beneath Loki's shoulders crunches when he shoves harder. "You are a strange creature, Laufeyson."

Loki tries a harmless smile, but fails.

"Tell father he has to talk to her-- in a proper way," Heimdall declares. Then he sits back on his opponent's hip and twists Loki's torso, shoving his temple and cheek into the shell-strewn ground. Now he can reach for the clasp at the back of Loki's pale neck. If his fingers tremble slightly he hopes the other won't notice.

"Don't forget you're his tool, as well," Loki mumbles into the sand. "Forged and hardened in sea foam and pig’s blood."

Collecting the necklace Heimdall halts briefly. "Tell me, why here? You must have known about my powers. You do know about my mothers. That this is where I'm maybe bearing most of my might."

Loki, bereft of the gems, turns onto his back again. One arm lies across his belly, the other digs into the ground. Wet sand clings to half of his face and most of his hair. "I just played along."

Exasperated, Heimdall sighs. "Is it really all a game to you?"

Suddenly Loki winds from underneath him and pushes Heimdall back onto his haunches. "Nah, I'm preparing. Just like the Grey Wanderer himself. I needed to practice shifting shapes. I managed even to change yours, which is new for me." He looks at him, a small trickle of blood flowing from a bite in his shoulder. "I dug deep within you, and the seal form was the one you were most familiar with. Make of that what you want." Without another word he turns and walks from the shore: naked and bested.

Heimdall shakes his head as he goes searching for his clothes. He won't face Freyja like this. She would probably be amused beyond measure, but he's not in the mood for it.

Just because the world around him behaves like a madhouse doesn't mean he has to be part of it.

 

*** ***

 

 but we all know there is a law  
and that law, it is love  
and we all know there's a war coming  
coming from above

there is a war coming

[Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, _Hiding All Away_ ]

***

 

Heimdall hears the flapping of wings long before he sees the tiny dot in the sky, approaching from north-west. He has to shield his eyes from the sun to see the splat among the clouds growing bigger the closer it gets.

His knuckles tighten around the shaft of his spear, and his spine straightens. Apprehension gathers in his chest and belly, the tips of his fingers and toes.

Finally, Loki lands in front of him, wearing Freyja's falcon cloak. Out of breath, feathers tousled. He leans over, hands propped onto his knees, taking deep gulps of air.

"I found it," he wheezes, wiping fiery locks back from his face. "Though I don't know how a giant could have entered first Asgard, and then Thor's rooms." The coat glistens silver-golden in the light of the setting sun.

Heimdall clears his throat, "I wouldn't know either."

 ***

Together they arrive at the great hall. Storm clouds hang around the place, now tiny flickers of lightning appear here and there. Most of the other gods have already gathered inside, debating what to do next.

Thor is in visible disarray, pacing up and down the length of the table, but rushes towards Heimdall and Loki as soon as they enter.

"Loki! You look like you know more." Thor grabs and shakes Loki's smaller frame. "Tell me!"

Loki brushes the sturdy hands away, not without giving them a quick clasp of sympathy, it seems. "Alright, alright. No haste is necessary, I swear."

Heimdall shoots Thor's sly companion a long look, but refrains from commenting. He hooks his fingers into his belt, waiting.

The gods and goddesses leave their seats, flocking around the news-bearer.

"Thank you, frouwe," Loki says louder with a formal bow towards Freyja, handing her back the cloak of feathers. "Without it I wouldn't have been this swift."

Freyja accepts it with a proud nod and turns to leave. Why she would still lend Loki things is not entirely beyond Heimdall's imagination, but he prefers to not know everything. Bad enough he has to listen to the tiniest noises, grumbles, murmurs and sighs, to the growing of grass, to the lazy grinding of stone-layers miles deep in the earth. He doesn’t need illustrations.

"Ah, well, Freyja, would you not leave us yet?" Loki asks humbly while a servant offers him mead as a welcome.

Freyja's eyebrows rise a fraction. "Sure," she says and crosses her arms.

"You all see," Loki begins taking a sip, "first I went south--"

But that's already too much for Thor’s patience. "Stop the blathering," he says, gripping Loki's shoulders. "Where is it?"

Loki suppresses a yelp as he winds from Thor’s grasp. "Thrym has your hammer. It's up in the north."

Outside the thunderstorm explodes, and even Heimdall is startled by the first boom. The servants bustle to lock up the doors and windows.

Thor only growls. "How?"

Heimdall quickly clears his throat. "Well, could you talk to him?"

"Well, I could," Loki quips, turning to him.

Loki could point out that this was already the second time someone could steal past himself, Heimdall, Sentinel of Asgard. But that a Thurs could seize the mighty weapon of the Defender of both Midgard and Asgard… Heimdall's guts feel like boiling lead.

For a split second blazing light illuminates the hall, followed by very, very close thunder. "Speak," Thor says slowly.

Loki swallows. "Thrym would welcome an exchange, Thor. He has your hammer, I saw it on a stool beside his throne--"

"That sodden wretch! I shall behead him and wade in his blood."

"In exchange for Freyja, if you will. He longs to wed her," Loki hastily adds, wisely skipping a few steps backward.

The faces of the other gods turn like one towards Freyja. Both her father and brother look at each other in panic.

And Freyja starts laughing – so loud and unhinged that, in fact, all move away from her. She even has to wipe tears from her eyes; a thoughtful maiden offers her a kerchief to blow her nose.

Eventually she calms down, but the gods still stare at her. "What?"

Thor harrumphs rather courteously. "Frouwe-- Please don't get me wrong, but--"

Freyja blanches, her eyes gleam like arrows, cast of finest bronze. "Don't you dare speak further." Her voice sounds raw and deep.

"But it's _Mjölnir!"_ Clearly, Thor is in no sane shape either. Even Heimdall, who has no spouse to call his own, knows when not to quarrel with a lady.

"Listen carefully, son of Odin," Freyja rumbles, while taking measured steps towards him. "Just because my rightful husband is often absent doesn't mean I'm yearning for the embrace of just anybody." Her necklace is glittering on her white chest. "Lustful I may appear, but I'm choosing my consorts for myself, and I suffer no shortage."

"But without my hammer – we're defenseless! The enemy could strike at any time. And we might not be sufficiently prepared to--"

One has to applaud the rational side of him, Heimdall muses. For someone as hot-tempered as Thor it's impressive how he resists throwing Freyja over his shoulder and taking her north already.

"By the hairy balls of your reeking, sodden rams!" Freyja explodes properly. She leans forward, her hands propped on her hips.

The hall’s foundation and walls are trembling, and the fires are jittering, casting them in near darkness.

" _You_ , Thor," she yells, breast heaving underneath expensive cloth, " _You_ lost your fucking hammer. _You_ let it be stolen from beneath your downy pillows or wherever you store it while you sleep!" A tiny sound of bursting metal announces that her necklace broke, probably at the clasp, because it's flowing to her feet in one piece. "And it's not my damn problem to get it back! Now, you’ve also lost your mind if you think I will do as you suggest."

She fixes them all with a stare, and when it's Heimdall's turn, sweat pools at the nape of his neck and the small of his back. She is even more beautiful in her fury, a true goddess of war.

"Frouwe--" Silver-tongued Loki tries, kneeling at her feet and collecting the gems for her.

"Don't," she spits fiercely, grabbing the offered jewels, but addressing them all. "Don't you dare sell me like cattle."

With that she pushes past Thor, her maidens trailing behind like the afterbirth of her wrath. Nobody dares to intervene; some of the gods are wide-eyed still, some even tremble a bit. The goddesses share pointed looks.

Freyr is the first to move. He takes a sip from his cup and says, "My sister is right."

"That's rich, coming from you," Loki snorts, having found his tongue again. "Threatening your own wife to marry you--"

"Silence!" Thor booms. Then, "Silence," a bit quieter, but still loud. "We have to think. Can't we just march up to him and burn down his hall?"

Heimdall sighs. Quick thinking doesn't always mean good thinking. "I'm afraid we can't. March up, I mean. We can't leave all, and leave Asgard be unguarded." He knows the hammer would return to its rightful owner. He knows it, because after drinking from Mimir's Well he has had visions of Thor wielding it against one of Loki's daughters.

Memories of the Brísingamen in Loki's hands, around Loki's neck resurface in his mind. How it entices everybody looking at its wearer. "Loki," he says slowly. "Do you think Freyja would lend you something if you asked her? Very nicely, of course."

Quick-witted Loki beams at him, his posture straightening. "I shall do my very best," he declares with a florish.

"We will answer Thrym and agree with his demand," Heimdall says gravely. Irritated murmur rises from the others, so he hastens to add: "But we shall put Thor in Freyja's best garments, and bind a bridal veil around his temples. Her magic necklace will adorn his ample bosom, and from his girdle many keys will dangle merrily. Thus disguised he will enter Thrym's hall and demand the hammer in exchange." It's obvious how this tale would play out; Heimdall doesn't have to speak further.

Loki cannot hide his approval. "Fantastic," he whispers, just in time with Thor's appalled: "You must be out of your mind, brother. You all would call me unmanly!"

"It's not as if we had other options," Heimdall tries to reason. "And none of us would call you unmanly, really."

Affirming murmur arises from the other gods. Some of the goddesses even smile and haste to add, "Far from it." Thor looks both relieved and conflicted. Heimdall refrains from rolling his eyes.

"Look," Loki says. "It wouldn't be _ergi_ , because you wouldn't practice any witchery, or call upon the dead. You would just wear clothing befitting a woman to regain Mjölnir. I will be your maid-servant." And adding under his breath: "I won't let this opportunity for a tale pass me by."

Thor warily eyes his companion, studies the others. It's important to gain the others' favor lest they expel him, too, like they did with Odin-- for the very same cause: for practicing forbidden witchcraft.

The assembled gods and goddesses nod in approval. Njörd's hand lands on Freyr's shoulder, his smile is relieved. "It's a fine plan. I shall pack your dowry, Thor."

Heimdall pointedly avoids Thor's eyes, but Loki slips beside him as the others scatter. "Thank you," Heimdall says.

"Huh? It's your splendid idea," Loki grins. "And usually it's me they ask when something needs fixing."

Heimdall plucks invisible lint from his sleeves. "Well, usually you are the reason for things needing to be fixed again."

Loki stiffens, staring at him. Then he waves for the servants to bring his coat. "Touché. But you messed up this time, Heimdall. I shall look forward for the third time you fail." He leaves without greeting.

Heimdall remains still for a few moments, breathing in and out. The fires dance merrily like they are supposed to. Servants bustle around him, trying to catch a glimpse at the damage Freyja has wrought.

Under his cloak, he tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword. There won't be a third time.

**Author's Note:**

> *clears throat* If you're interested in some of the premises behind, here we go:
> 
> # I tried to keep out the Ragnarök thing, as requested, but had to hint at it, because of Loki being Heimdall's final enemy, both killing each other respectively. 
> 
> # I read Heimdall as being an agent of order, finely contrasted by Loki as being an agent of chaos. That's why both just won't _connect_.
> 
> # The Brísingamen (some say it's an amber necklace, others argue it's a girdle made of exotic seeds washed ashore by the Gulf Stream, looking like small stones, kidney-shaped, and supposed to help women in labor) and Mjölnir are both symbols of fertility, and had to be retrieved violently after being stolen by agents of chaos (those being either Loki himself or giants). Heimdall is in both tales an important reason for solving the uproar.
> 
> # The concept of _ergi_ describes anything that doesn't comply with one's role expected by society due to your gender, for example: aggressive women, and men wearing women's gowns. Odin practiced _seiðr_ (i.e. _ergi_ witchcraft), which made him not only weak and helpless (think of shaman techniques and trance), but also expelled him from the throne, indeed.
> 
> # The ELO quote is a nod towards _Thor: Ragnarok_ , of course. Because who am I to deny you Idris Elba? :D
> 
> # *See seal mating habits, for example.


End file.
